


Embers

by Viscariafields



Series: FAM2k18 [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, fam2k18, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 10:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16428050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: Hawke falls ill while tutoring Fenris, and he is responsible for nursing her back to health.Some fluffy nonsense. Ends on a bit of an angsty note.This takes place during act 2, post their ill-fated night together, before the serial killer stuff.This is also for prompt 12-Sick for FAM2K18.





	Embers

“Hawke?” Fenris’s hand waved in front of her face. “Were you going to finish that thought?”

Hawke blinked and Fenris’s room came back into focus. The chill in the air suddenly felt unbearable. “Sorry, I don’t remember what I was saying. It’s too cold in here to think properly.”

Fenris stood up from the table littered with books and quills and tossed another log on the fire. She felt the wave of warmth hit her back, but it did not stop her from beginning to shiver.

“You are sweating,” Fenris said, peering at her face. Hawke reached a hand to her forehead. Wet. No wonder she was so cold. “You are sick.”

“Nonsense,” she gritted out through chattering teeth. “Could a sick person do this?”

She stood up, but whatever plan she had melted as the floor lurched out from under her. Fenris caught her before she dropped. “Yes, quite easily, I imagine.”

The world lurched again, and Hawke closed her eyes, bracing for impact. A trick floor really wasn’t any fair, and Fenris should know that. When she realized she had been falling for too long, she opened her eyes and found she was being carried. Fenris deposited her on his bed and began to unlace her boots.

“If you remove those, I am certain I will freeze to death,” she said. Or at least, she thought she said it. Fenris didn’t respond, and he kept unlacing. He was usually very polite. Accommodating, if grumpy. There were so many laces on her boots, though, he might never succeed. She could see them wrapping around his arms, relacing themselves, binding him… She wanted to tell him to stop, but her eyelids were very heavy…

~~

Fenris had never taken care of a sick person before. He could not remember ever being sick, himself. An effect of the lyrium, possibly. Or, after his escape, an effect of constantly being alone. He had seen illness from afar, mainly poor elves on the streets covered in pox or shivering in the warmth of the Tevinter sun. With Hawke sweating through his bedsheets, he might learn what a fever felt like.

Varric had been sick earlier in the year, but that had been slow. One day a sneeze, the next a stuffed up nose, and eventually a hacking cough. Fenris had not seen someone succumb this quickly to an illness. He was not certain what to do. He had searched the mansion for more blankets, piling them on her until she stopped shivering. Of course, it was possible the weight of them all just meant she couldn’t move at all. Given her sudden lack of coordination, that was probably for the best.

A vague memory floated through his mind: a cold, rough hand laid gently across a forehead. He took his gloves off. Hawke’s skin was the wrong color—both paler and pinker than usual. He laid his hand across her forehead to gauge what he already knew. She was too hot.

She opened one eye to look at him. He hadn’t expected her to wake up. “One touch from you and I’m on fire,” she drawled.

A joke? Was she seriously trying to flirt with him _now_? He watched as she slowly closed the one eye and opened it again in what he was certain was an attempt at winking.

He removed his hand and replaced his gloves. He needed to tell her mother where she was, and he needed help. Aveline would know what to do.

~~

A sudden bright light wrenched Fenris out of sleep. Aveline stood by his tattered curtains and was opening the window to the room. She had brought Merrill. Fenris stood up from the chair he had dragged next to his occupied bed and glared at the women.

“She needs fresh air and a clean environment,” Aveline announced, beating the dust out of the curtains. “There is nothing more cleansing than sunlight.”

“Really, Fenris, this place is a sty! Do you have a broom? A brush? A cleaning tool of any sort?”

Fenris watched as the women cleaned his mansion. It was curious their method of caring for Hawke seemed not to include her at all. It appeared to consist of sweeping, dusting, and criticizing his living situation. When he tried to help, he was told to sit back down and tend to Hawke. Merrill kept stopping to ask him insulting questions, but at least Aveline gave him advice in keeping Hawke alive.

“Do you mean to be living with so many spiders, or do you mind if I settle them elsewhere?”

“She needs to drink water, Fenris. You must wake her regularly and force her to drink. If she loses too much water, the fever will worsen.”

“Is it the style for the wall to be splotchy like that? I can never tell with these human houses. Or is that grime? Ah, grime. We’ll take care of that.”

“If you cannot rouse her, then you need to call Anders. Otherwise, keep her warm, hydrated, give her food if she asks for it, and this should pass on its own.”

Fenris looked around wildly at his newly clean home. “You’re not staying then?”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “Unlike you, I actually have work to do, Fenris. But I think you’ll do fine here. I’ll let Varric know to check up on you. If you start to fall ill, then we’ll need reinforcements.”

Merrill dropped some items on his table, shoving his books to the side. “And I’m leaving some soup behind for Hawke. You do own a spoon, don’t you? I think I brought one in my pack somewhere, just in case. You’ll probably have to feed it to her, so try not to stab her with your hand spikes.”

“Aveline,” Hawke groaned from under her mountain of blankets. The captain stopped in the doorway. “Can you arrest Fenris for keeping such a freezing house?”

Aveline laughed and returned to Hawke’s side. “You want me to arrest the man that’s taking care of you? I’m sure I’d receive thanks from his neighbors, but no.”

Fenris threw more logs on the fire and closed the door to the bedroom in an attempt to warm Hawke, but she seemed determined to feel cold. It was strange to share this space with another person, even if she was asleep most of the time. Still, Aveline had seemed unworried, so perhaps this would be over soon.

~~

Fenris ran a finger through Hawke’s hair. Every time he gave her water, she sweated it out immediately and proceeded to shiver even harder. She was no longer making jokes, and sometimes she didn’t seem to know where she was or who she was with.

He had only ever fought physical enemies he could defeat with a sword or pull apart from the inside. He could not stab a fever to death. He had toyed with the idea of reaching into Hawke and removing her illness, but the it was everywhere. There was nothing to grasp.

He wanted her out of the house. If she had gotten sick somewhere else, he would not have to face an invisible and impossible enemy. He could have ignored any fears or any regrets he had about her. What might have been, what he should have done. But she had fallen ill here, in his home, and now he had to watch as his strong, smart, energetic friend faded. He traced a finger down her cheek.

Varric walking into the room startled him into standing up. Hawke fluttered her eyes in protest but did little else. Varric shook his head as he looked at her, but otherwise seemed unconcerned about her condition. Everyone had seemed remarkably unconcerned, as if it were normal for Hawke to be weak and confused. Fenris couldn’t comprehend it.

“Here.” Varric thrust something at him. “Thought you could read Hawke my new book. You could bore her into getting better.”

Fenris flipped to a page and sounded out the words ‘heaving bosoms.’ He slammed it shut and held the book away from him like it might explode. “What is the nature of this book?”

“Trying a new genre for me. Romance.” He waggled his eyebrows at Fenris before giving up. “Look, you can give me notes at the end of it if you hate it. Or, if Hawke responds to any of it, take notes.” Fenris walked over to the fire and held the book over it.  Varric threw up his hands. “I just thought you’d want something to occupy your time other than wiping Hawke’s brow.”

Fenris frowned. A story might be a good idea. Hawke had spent the night asking after Carver, certain he was lost. When she tried to climb out of bed to search for him, Fenris had lied to her, assuring her that Carver was at home with her mother. He had grown more worried when she grew quiet, unsure if it was a sign of improvement or worsening of her mental state. He had not yet been able to convince her to eat today. Reading her a trivial if lewd story might ease her mind.

“Varric,” her weak voice called from beneath the mountain of blankets, “Bethany can heal a fever just like that.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Wasn’t I snapping?”

“No.”

“I’m not sure I know where my hands are, actually. Bethany could find them for me. Do you know where she is?”

“Bethany joined the Grey Wardens, Hawke.”

“Is the Blight still on? Is that where Carver went?”

Fenris turned to Varric. “Maybe it’s time to get Anders.”

Varric rubbed his chin in thought. “Dangerous for him to come up to Hightown during the day, and I’m not sure we should move her. She’s confused, but that’s pretty normal for a fever like this. Last time I was sick, I was certain Bartrand had dragged me down to Orzammar. I dunno, elf. Let’s see if she gets better on her own. Sweating is good. Sweating means her body is trying to get rid of the fever.”

If Varric had left after that, Fenris probably would have ignored him and found Anders himself. It would be uncomfortable, seeking magical aid from such an asshole, but if it would help Hawke, he could stomach the abomination for a few hours.

Varric didn’t leave. He spent the afternoon, pulling out a bottle of wine and a deck of cards. Hawke demanded to be dealt in, and immediately fell asleep. Varric simply pulled out a second deck, dealing Hawke hands each round and occasionally telling her she won.

“Get wrecked, Fenris.”

Varric’s calm optimism, Hawke’s sporadic participation in their conversation, and the wine all soothed Fenris’s nerves.

~~

Fenris had plowed his way through Varric’s terrible, smutty novel, and had now moved on to an incredibly boring book on the history of the Chantry. He couldn’t be sure who had left this book here, though he was enjoying reading about the demise of the Tevinter Empire.

“kay-os,” Hawke interrupted. Fenris paid her no mind and continued his reading.

“It’s pronounced kay-os,” she repeated.

“Pardon?” He closed the book and looked at her. For the first time in days her eyes looked focused, clear. She might actually be saying something relevant.

“You keep saying it wrong. It’s not chows. It’s kay-os.”

“It’s spelled C-H-A-O-S.”

She wiggled in the bed and threw a mound of blankets to the floor. “I’m not telling you how it’s spelled, I’m telling you how to say it.”

“Are you telling me that ‘chaos’ is spelled ‘chaos’?” He closed the book and tossed it on the table with disgust. Then he turned back to take in Hawke. Her skin no longer looked flushed—just a bit pale. He put a hand to her forehead, blessedly cool.

Hawke smiled. “Am I better yet?”

Fenris moved a stray lock of hair from her face. “It seems that way.”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Thank you for not dying.” His voice sounded strained. He suddenly remembered himself and pulled his hand away from her face. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to stoking the fire.

 Hawke broke the silence. “Did you read me a story about Aveline’s white, milky breasts?”

There was the briefest hesitation before Fenris simply replied, “No.”

“Good.”

Another long pause before, “Did I really beat you at Wicked Grace?”

Fenris smiled at that. “We were playing Diamondback, so yes, I suppose.”

“And… what am I wearing?”

“Aveline thought you would be more comfortable out of your leathers, so she gave you her tunic.”

“We might… have to burn it.”

“Yes. That seems wise.”  

Though now out of danger, Hawke’s recovery was not complete. The fever had weakened her substantially, and it was days before she was able to walk home to her estate. Their friends visited with food and more card games and better books. For a week the dilapidated mansion became a hub for all social interactions between this odd group of companions. Fenris did not hate it as much as he thought he would. In fact, when Hawke finally felt well enough to go home, he felt a sense of dread, of loss.

Fenris had spent his life destroying things. It was what was demanded of him in Tevinter, and now it was what he was good at. He had never taken care of something before, be it a person, animal, or plant. He had never even fixed anything, including the mansion that was slowly crumbling around him. Tending to Hawke, watching her get better... it was new. And it was a success. Something else she showed him he could do. 

He told himself the slow pace they kept through Hightown was for Hawke’s benefit. She still tired easily. But when they said their goodbyes and he left her in the care of her mother, his pace did not quicken his return route. The mansion was the same, if cleaner. Now that Hawke was better, he had let the fire dwindle down to just embers, slowly burning away. He sat in front of it now, reflecting that the mansion did feel a little cold and drafty, now that it was empty. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by me getting a cold, sleeping for like 24 hours, and not wanting to work on any of my other fics. Wash your hands and stay healthy out there, folks!
> 
> Also, for the record, Isabela did come to visit, but not before the fever had passed. Anders just wasn't told that Hawke was sick, because nobody wanted him to do something stupid.


End file.
